Love
by Sins of Angels
Summary: Love is more powerful than any magic, any force on this Earth. Dumbledore knew this, and a certain Hogwarts student has been forced to accept it, to recognize it as true, if only because of personal experience. Oneshot. Enjoy.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. All characters belong to a woman with a great imagination and determination, capable of creating this world that is the center of so many stories.

* * *

Sins of Angels: Wrote this after reading an interesting fact in an interview with J. K. Rowling. Please take the time and let me know what you thought of it. Enjoy.

* * *

Love

He looked on, always from a distance. He was reminded of Romeo and Juliet, every time they were even in the same room. Star-crossed lovers never meant to be, the world against them.

Well, there were differences, granted. Like the way he always behaved so stupidly around her, the way he could never tell her what he really felt, what he wanted her to know, to ask if she felt it as well. He never had, what his enemies would call, the nerve.

And his friends didn't help either. They were so against the mere principle of her, the way she just existed, that they will never forgive him. It was puzzling, vexing, horrifying, and painful.

It was love. He knew it, deep down. He masked his feelings, lapsing into his natural state, saying what's expected about her to others. No one really knew how he felt.

Not even the girl who was so carefully planting kisses on him now. She barely knew him at all, come to think of it. She was just another face, just another try at prying those green eyes, that vibrant red hair, from his mind.

People around him said that love is weak. That love is for fools, for the faint-hearted. He disagrees. He's with Dumbledore as the old man repeats over and over that love is more powerful than anything Voldemort can find.

Love. It's a scary thing, really. To know that someone like him will do anything, even give his life, to keep her from harm. It is true what people said. Lily Evans cast a spell on you.

He groaned in frustration and pushed the girl from him. He'd never gotten father than taking off her shirt, never with anyone. The image of Lily Evans, standing there as he confessed his feelings and seeing her face as he told her he wasn't pure, wasn't a virgin, couldn't wait for her, always crept up. The girl sat up and frowned.

"I thought you liked me," she said, her eyes pleading.

"You thought wrong," he answered distractedly.

"What's your problem, anyway?" she asked irritably, snatching her shirt and bra and putting them back on. He stared at her lazily before he got up and put a hand on her shoulder, gently slipping the bra away from her again.

Leaning in, he kissed her fiercely, passionately, closing his eyes and seeing a girl, red hair, green eyes, kissing back. He deepened it, slipping his hand around the girl's waist. As he slowly pulled away, she moaned.

"You're so mysterious," she said softly as he began to undo her pants. "Tell me, am I your first?"

His head snapped up. Where he had seen the majestic red-head now stood a puzzled brunette, her striking blue eyes boring into him. It was not a question of beauty; she was more beautiful than any he had ever seen. It was a question of who she was, or, better yet, who she wasn't.

"Are you alright?" she asked again, looking at him as he buttoned up her pants. He grabbed her clothes off the floor and thrust them at her.

"Go away," he barked harshly. She stood for a moment, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"Go away," he repeated, going back to his bed. It wasn't worth it. He couldn't face her, face Lily, with the knowledge that she wasn't his first, that he had slept with a whore just to try to drive her from his mind. He couldn't put that away like the rest of his feelings.

The girl slipped her shirt back on and went to the door. "I really liked you, you know," she said softly. He sighed. "I think we might have even been good together. But it's obvious you like someone else."

He fell back on his bed as she closed the door behind her and stared at the ceiling. Well, there it was, yet again Lily Evans had spoiled any chance he'd had with any other girl except her.

It didn't make sense! It infuriated him so know that he liked, that he loved, a Muggleborn. He could plainly see the look of disapproval on the faces of everyone he knows. He hated that of all the people in the world, it had to be her.

What he hated even more was their encounters. He could never say what he meant; only what he should. He could register the look of fury, the look of sadness, the look of hatred he caused her to express. He saw them in his nightmares, the ones where he told her what he felt and those looks passed her face.

To be so obsessed, so absorbed, in another human being was weakening him, hurting him. Every time he moved his thoughts ran to what she would think, what she saw, did she think he looked cool, did she think he looked right for her. If they ever made it, if they ever had an encounter in which they could both be honest, caring, declare their love for each other, he had no doubt he would never leave her, never let harm come to her. He'd leave his friends for her, his family, he'd leave everything.

But there was no need. He'd never get her. James Potter had her, in his pocket, from the day he walked through those doors and saw her. James Potter had taken everything from him.

And then, as Severus Snape lay in his bed, staring at ceiling and visions of Lily Evans dancing on the walls, then he vowed to hate James Potter, to destroy him. His last glimmer of hope in his life was put out by one James Potter, his greatest enemy.


End file.
